


When it went so wrong

by Electricviolinist



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, CEO Derek Hale, Homophobic Language, M/M, One Shot, Revenge Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6728566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Electricviolinist/pseuds/Electricviolinist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think you love me, you know,” said Stiles, to the painting of his lover, dressed in finery and astride a magnificent horse.<br/>“You can’t prove it,” Derek grunted. Not the painting, of course, but the real man, more normally dressed, stood casually behind Stiles. Stiles wished he were more gloriously dressed in not very much.<br/>He knew Derek was moving closer. He could pretend he could feel the heat as the gap between them closed. The heat of Derek’s body seemed as burningly heavenly as always.<br/>“That wasn’t a denial,” Stiles smiled.<br/>...<br/>Stiles loves Derek, even though Derek has let him down.<br/>Not a fluffy story. No happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When it went so wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, about once a month I write angst now.  
> Inspired slightly by a fic I read then lost. If you think it was your fic, I will very much put a link to it here. I thought it was awesome.  
> Enjoy.

“I think you love me, you know,” said Stiles, to the painting of his lover, dressed in finery and astride a magnificent horse. 

“You can’t prove it,” Derek grunted. Not the painting, of course, but the real man, more normally dressed, stood casually behind Stiles. Stiles wished he were more gloriously dressed in not very much.

He knew Derek was moving closer. He could pretend he could feel the heat as the gap between them closed. The heat of Derek’s body seemed as burningly heavenly as always.

“That wasn’t a denial,” Stiles smiled.

“Stiles,” Derek breathed, “I wish you wouldn’t.”

OK, that was a bit of a mood killer. Stiles tried not to react. But his face had never failed to show his emotions. He could feel his jaw stiffening, his eyes flickering.

“People might be able to hear us, here,” Derek whispered.

The words made Stiles’ gut clench into a tight ball. He almost felt like curling in on himself. Protective.

“Come up to my room,” said Derek. His voice so kind, so soothing, it almost soothed out the clenched ball. Almost.

“Not scared they heard that?” Stiles asked.

“Come up, quietly,” said Derek. He was so close, now, Stiles could feel his breath.

“If someone walked in now, what would they think?” Stiles asked, still staring at the painting. It looked nothing like Derek, really. If this guy walked in, Stiles wouldn't even look at him. He had none of Derek's beauty. 

“I’d actually like to avoid that,” said Derek. He had a slight edge to his voice.  Maybe nerves. Maybe Stiles’ words had struck him, just a tiny bit.

“But if they did?” Stiles prompted.

Derek sighed. He stepped away. “I’m going up to my room,” he said. “Where I intend to get naked. I was hoping you’d join me.”

He stepped away, then stalked past Stiles. He held a lot of his sadness and anger in his walk, even when he was trying to be seductive. The pain of the loss of his family, the strain of holding the rest of it together had left scars on him. Apparently, Stiles was the only one allowed to notice.

“This is fucking pretentious,” Stiles told the painting. Because who had a painting of themselves and put it on display in their pretentiously huge house?

“I had to get it done for the business,” said Derek. “My whole family…”

“Yeah, yeah, generations of fucking pretentious Hales,” said Stiles. “You said something about nakedness?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s what I’d like to be, yeah,” he said. “You coming?”

Stiles shrugged.

The painting wasn't of Derek. It was of the owner of a big business, a ruthless monster, who sacked people for profit margins and who swam through murky society pools with other ruthless monsters, making themselves richer while others got poorer. It wasn't of Derek. It was of who Derek wanted to be.

Somehow that made it all far worse.

***

Being wrapped in Derek’s arms was almost blissful. Almost.

Stiles clung onto the arms as Derek nudged him towards the bed. Sometimes, it felt like he couldn't quite keep up. He was desperate for every moment of intimacy from Derek, even as he knew each time they touched was like injecting poison into his own veins.

Derek had always been taciturn. Stiles was the talker, Derek the listener. It worked. Until it didn't.

“Stop thinking,” Derek muttered between kisses.

“No one can stop thinking,” said Stiles.

As though to prove him wrong, Derek turned the attention of his devious lips to the juncture of Stiles’ neck and shoulder. Stiles’ brain disconnected for a fraction of a second’s jolt of pleasure. A sound that Stiles would never have admitted to in any other circumstances, high pitched and yearning, sprang without permission from his lips.

“God, you’re good,” Stiles breathed.

Derek smiled against his neck. A beautiful feeling. “It’s what you bring out of me,” the older guy said.

Stiles could only groan in need, while Derek guided him towards the bed. His hands were clenching onto Derek, pulling him closer, needy, and greedy.

Before they’d even hit the mattress, the nasty, tinny sound of Derek’s cellphone sent cracks through the moment. The way Derek stilled had Stiles closing his eyes.

“Just… not now…” Stiles tried. Pleaded. Hopelessly.

Derek sighed, miserably, “Stiles…”

“Please!” Stiles tried, “Just… just… half an hour.”

“I…”

“Ten minutes!”

Derek sighed. He kissed Stiles on the forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “You know I have to.”

Stiles turned his face away. Derek moved away, found his phone, answered it.

“Hale,” he said.

Hale, Stiles thought. Not Derek. Hale.

Whatever the interrupting caller was saying, it made Derek sigh again, rub a hand over his tired eyes. Stiles knew what was going to happen.

“I get half an hour of your time a week,” Stiles said, once the phone call was over. “If that.”

Derek was already smartening himself up.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “You know I would never have chosen this.”

“It’s not enough,” said Stiles.

“Stiles, you know…”

“I know,” Stiles snapped.

Derek came closer, “People depend on my business, Stiles. Thousands of people have homes and food and healthcare, because I provide it for them.”

“You don’t need to tell me that.”

“I have duties, Stiles,” said Derek.

“Yeah,” said Stiles.

Derek sat down, lacing his shoes. Polished and black and no doubt more expensive than Stiles’ whole outfit and car.

“I saw the article on the Rio office,” said Stiles. “You and Jennifer, side by side.”

“Stiles,” Derek protested.

“You look good, you know,” said Stiles, “Two dark and handsome people, of appropriate genders…”

“It’s not real, you know that,” said Derek. “I can’t get into this now, I don’t have the time.”

Stiles didn't reply.

“Jen’s coming home at eight,” said Derek. “Be out before then.”

Stiles didn't reply with vengeance.

“I’ll call you,” said Derek, “Soon. I promise.”

Stiles nodded.

Derek left.

…

When Stiles left, he didn't go home.

He never did after spending time with Derek any more. Spending time with Derek was both the best and worst thing in the world. He wanted to do nothing but spend time with Derek, but Derek’s time was rationed. Stiles was not considered worthy of it.

After spending time with Derek, Stiles’ brain focused on one thing. Make Derek feel like he did.

That was impossible of course. Derek made Stiles feel like the lowliest, most useless and pathetic piece of shit to ever breathe. Derek couldn't resist him, could no more stay away than Stiles could, but Stiles was relegated to the roll of filthy slut. The secret that no one could ever know.

So he boiled the feeling down to the basics. The anger, the betrayal, the jealousy.

He arrived at the apartment early. It was a good apartment, good neighborhood, good quality, nice things. Just cold and hard. Like its owner.

He buzzed the penthouse.

It felt like a while. The owner liked to make people wait. When he finally bothered to get to the intercom, he didn't even speak.

“It’s me,” said Stiles anyway. He had never needed to say more and he didn't again. The door sprang free, and Stiles walked into the beautiful foyer, into the swift elevator that never seemed to break down like the one at Stiles’ apartment. He was in the penthouse within half an hour of leaving Derek’s.

“I thought you weren't going to make it,” said Peter Hale. “I thought Derek had you tonight.”

It was a careless shrug that Stiles aimed for. He probably missed. “I think you only want something when you know other people do,” he said.

“Naturally,” said Peter, “That’s the nature of human desire. We are social animals, after all. Sometimes, the craving to be accepted into the group outweighs the needs to feed and fuck.” He put down the glass from which he’d been drinking some expensive looking amber liquid. “You coming?”

He turned away. Stiles came after him.

Whenever Peter Hale fucked him, Stiles would hurt.

Peter was vicious. He pressed Stiles onto hard surfaces, over a desk, against the wall, over the foot of the bed so the metal frame jabbed into his hips. He forced a hand over Stiles’ face because he enjoyed the noises Stiles made when he couldn't speak and could barely breathe. He sometimes bound Stiles’ wrists together, so Stiles would tumble onto his face, unbalanced and helpless, so Stiles could have no choice over how he was taken. And Stiles came back because it was everything he needed.

Stiles wanted to hurt Derek, but he wanted to hurt himself more. Being fucked by Peter Hale provided both services.

Except Stiles had never managed to tell Derek.

“I should film this,” Peter had said, one day, with a smirk. “Next time Derek is a turd, I could play it in the board room.”

“You try and I’d kill you,” Stiles had replied. It was unexpectedly honest and vile. It had done little but impress Peter Hale. But then, Peter Hale was as fucked up as Stiles.

“I could kill Derek,” said Peter, now, as he led a silent Stiles to his bedroom. “I could make it look like an accident. You and I could sell the company and live lives of luxury on a private island in the Caribbean.”

Tempting. Sort of. But…

“But, without needing to hurt Derek, you probably wouldn't even bother coming to me,” said Peter.

Stiles didn't reply. It was true, and he saw no reason to lie.

“Or I could kill you,” said Peter, “Derek would be a whining pile of misery, and would probably kill himself. I’d be free of him and inherit the company, and no one would ever trace it back to me.”

He turned to Stiles with shocking speed, right hand gripping suddenly on Stiles’ neck. Stiles jerked with fear, sudden and real. His heart jumped, his hands fingers grasping at Peter’s grip, his toes curling, his whole body thrilling.

“You’re fucking lucky I like you,” said Peter. A harsh growl against his ear.

Peter’s mouth was an invader of his own, taking what he wanted, using as he desired. His hands kept their hold on Stiles’ neck, the threat, the violence that came with meeting Peter. The danger. But, Stiles gave as good as he got. He grabbed Peter’s hair, pulling it hard.

With a laugh, Peter pulled away. “You little shit,” he said. “I don’t know how Derek ever let you out of his sight.”

“Whatever,” said Stiles, “I thought we were gonna fuck.”

“Of course,” Peter replied, one hand trailing down Stiles’ torso.

“Well, get on with it,” Stiles snapped. “Quit monologuing like a Bond villain.”

Peter made soft eye contact, then grabbed Stiles’ shoulder, and spun him, so he faced the wall. Stiles felt his face pushed against the plaster.

“Careful,” said Peter, “It’s you who turns up on my doorstep. Imagine how you would feel if I turned you away?”

Stiles bit his lip to stay quiet. Peter turning him away would probably be better for everyone. But it would be the most humiliating thing in the world. More humiliating than anything Peter did to him.

“I think this is somewhere we haven’t fucked before,” said Peter. “We’re running out of places. Would you like that Stiles? Fucked in the corridor? Not even a flat surface?”

Stiles closed his eyes. And nodded.

And Peter fucked him against the wall outside his bedroom.

* * *

Derek arrived at Hale Enterprises every morning at seven thirty, when he’d done an hour working out and had had some coffee.  He spent the first hour and a half checking his emails and reading the business pages. It was a huge effort, every morning. It was against his whole nature, opposite to everything he wanted from his life.

His assistant arrived at eight thirty, a woman in her forties who handled his diary and his office with the same ferocious efficiency she’d used under his mother’s employ.  Derek was never without information he needed, never late, never wrong footed. She warned him of the meeting in plenty of time.

With feigned confidence he rarely actually felt, Derek made his way to the conference room. There was to be a presentation by legal, something to do with the handling of a delicate matter of the Hale name being used by certain public figures in negative ways and the company’s strategy for tackling any negative image created. Thoughts about the suitability of any sort of legal action had already kept Derek awake for days.

He expected to be the first to arrive, except for maybe the IT guys setting up the communications and projections. He was surprised by who he did see.

“Stiles?”

Stiles looked up, obviously far less surprised to see Derek than Derek was to see him.

“Mr. Hale,” he said. Quietly.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked, stupidly.

“Uh, my job,” said Stiles. “You know.” He went back to what he was doing; laying folders at each place, no doubt full of information the presentation would need.

“What?” said Derek.

“His job,” said Peter, from the doorway. “As my assistant.”

Derek was taken aback for a moment. Stiles just carried on with his task.

“I thought…” Derek began, “You were an intern…”

“In my department,” said Peter, “and when his internship came to an end, I offered him a position.”

Without bothering to hide the annoyance that sentence brought to Derek, he said, “He was one of the most gifted on the program, so you turn him into a secretary?”

One of the folders hit the table hard.

“He was a very talented intern with a lot to learn,” said Peter, “So I took him under my wing.”

“You…!” Derek had no idea what he was going to accuse his uncle of. Giving Stiles a job when he needed one? “There are more suitable roles,” he said, instead, trying to rationalize his anger.

Peter moved up beside Stiles, and took the few remaining folders from unresisting fingers. “Stiles, I would like you to check up on the refreshments, while I educate my nephew on graduate recruitment. Maybe you could double check my emails for any last minute apologies, hmm?”

Stiles nodded, and left without looking at Peter or Derek. Derek watched him go, mouth hanging loosely. Only when the door closed too heavily to be accidental, did he snap out of it.

“What are you playing at?” he demanded.

Peter rolled his eyes, and placed the folders down on the table.

“I'm not playing at anything, Derek. It would have been scandalous to allow someone of his talents to be scooped up by another another company,” Peter said, “I had to offer something he would not have had access to anywhere else.”

“The chance to fetch your coffee?”

“The chance to learn from a massively experienced and skilled partner,” Peter replied. “I offer him every chance to develop his abilities. He has access to far more of the departments than he would have been able to otherwise.”

They were words, just words, they didn't mean anything because… they didn't make sense! “But… but… you said…”

“What?” Peter prompted. Not kindly. Mocking. Like Derek were a fool, like his questions were foolish.

“You told me I had to … to dissociate with him.”

Derek couldn't hold back the misery of the words. The way it felt to have Stiles so far from the center of his life. At the words of his uncle.

Peter stepped closer to him, put his head on one side. “Derek, what are you asking?”

Derek felt ticks in his arm, attempts to close his fists. But he forced the words out. He had to make sense of it all.

“You told me to end my relationship with Stiles for the good of the company,”

While Derek struggled to hold his composure, Peter began to lose his. But not to the desperation that Derek battled. He smirked. Just a little.

“I did,” Peter replied, “And I still stand by that.”

Derek shook with the effort to remain still.

“You are the figurehead, Derek,” said Peter, “We cannot have an openly gay CEO. Beside from the negative press, the speculation, the boycotts from the Christian nut jobs and the loss of income that would generate, we cannot afford the loss of your masculinity in the board room.”

“The… what?”

“These people you do business with, Derek. They’re old school. Hale Enterprises is a business over a century old, with offices in nearly all major world cities,” Peter shook his head. “If some of those men thought you took it up the arse…”

“Fuck you!” Derek cried. It spilt from his mouth, an unintended outburst.

“I know, I know,” said Peter, “It sounds vile, and bigoted. But you have offices in Dubai and Malaysia, places where homosexuality is illegal. They could never follow the words of someone they believed to be openly perverted.”

Derek stared. He wanted to fight it. He wanted to say if Peter could have Stiles near him, then so could Derek. But Peter didn't want Stiles as Derek did. He no arguments against Peter.

“You know the advantages Jennifer brings to the business, Derek,” said Peter. “There’s no need to rock the boat. Stiles still lets you fuck him, doesn't he?”

Derek was not going to answer that. It felt like a betrayal to speak of his relationship with Stiles to Peter. But the older man nodded, anyway.

“You may want to be careful,” said Peter, “You are putting yourself at risk of legal action every time you do. Sexual harassment can be an expensive business.”

With a final pat on Derek’s shoulder, Peter nodded to the door. Board members could be heard outside, arriving for the meeting. Stiles was probably greeting them. No doubt Peter had introduced him to them as some sort of protégée that Peter himself had discovered. Derek’s relationship with him, from meeting him at Harvard, to introducing him to the family before everything had gone so very wrong, had been swept under the carpet. Now Derek was married to a beautiful young woman from a good family, and Stiles was an employee he barely knew.

Now Derek barely knew how his life had gone so wrong.

Now Peter was openly smiling.

 


End file.
